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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27915226">Not About Angels</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marina_North/pseuds/Marina_North'>Marina_North</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Banana Fish (Anime &amp; Manga)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Diary/Journal, Documentaries, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Memories, News Media, Okumura Eiji Needs a Hug, Other, Pining Ash Lynx, References to Depression, Social Media</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:27:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,518</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27915226</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marina_North/pseuds/Marina_North</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ash Lynx’s story first caught the public eye two years ago, after his lifeless body had been found slumped in a seat at the Rose Room of the New York Public Library. It wasn’t even that big or anything; just a one minute clip of a reporter standing at the steps of NYPL as she narrated about Ash’s criminal records, gang life, and now sudden death. Nothing special, just your usual non-headline news on the local channel, except—</p><p>“Ash Lynx died smiling and clutching a letter signed by one Eiji Okumura,” the reported had said as an image of a piece of parchment was flashed on the screen.</p><p>Max felt his stomach drop as he watched because he knew.</p><p>Suddenly it wasn’t just a story anymore. It had turned into a sensation.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ash Lynx &amp; Okumura Eiji, Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji, Max Lobo &amp; Ash Lynx, Max Lobo/Jessica Randy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>200</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Not About Angels</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a documentary. </p><p>It was called Not About Angels, which Max found out was also the title of the song that was used for the trailer. Hold on a sec—there was a trailer? He would discover later while he was drinking beer and surfing the web on his laptop that yes, there was—three versions of them, to be exact—along with several teasers, all of them uploaded on YouTube and with millions of views already.</p><p>Max refused to watch any of them.</p><p><em>Jesus H. Christ</em>. It seemed like the people’s obsession had finally reached its peak, huh?</p><p>Ash Lynx’s story first caught the public eye two years ago, after his lifeless body had been found slumped in a seat at the Rose Room of the New York Public Library. It wasn’t even that big or anything; just a one minute clip of a reporter standing at the steps of NYPL as she narrated about Ash’s criminal records, gang life, and now sudden death. Nothing special, just your usual non-headline news on the local channel, except—</p><p>“Ash Lynx died smiling and clutching a letter signed by one Eiji Okumura,” the reported had said as an image of a piece of parchment was flashed on the screen.</p><p>Max felt his stomach drop as he watched because he <em>knew</em>.</p><p>Suddenly it wasn’t just a story anymore. It had turned into a sensation.</p><p>The day after it aired, Max realized just how powerful social media truly was. Screenshots of Eiji’s letter spread across the internet like wildfire, and soon enough everyone was looking for the former Japanese pole-vaulter. <strong>#EijiOkumura</strong>, <strong>#AshLynx</strong>, and <strong>My Soul is Always With You</strong> stayed as top trends on Twitter for months (needless to say, Max had to familiarize himself with all these social media apps, including the language that came with them.) Photos of Eiji from his high school years, including those from Ibe’s collection, had resurfaced. It would have been fine except that a few days later reporters started to fly over to Izumo, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, maybe even score an exclusive interview.</p><p>Eiji hadn’t left their house since.</p><p>The aftermath hadn’t been pretty, to say the least. Max tried to reach out to Eiji to see if he was alright, but the Japanese refused to answer any of his messages. Max remembered Ibe calling him at the ass crack of dawn, babbling about <em>Ei-chan</em> and <em>depression</em> and <em>no sense of privacy, Max!</em> and he had to reassure Ibe that everything would be fine for like a hundred times before the photographer finally snapped, “No, Max. Nothing’s fine. Nothing’s ever going to be fine for Ei-chan anymore,” before promptly hanging up.</p><p>Jessica had to decline over a hundred interviews. Max had to personally drive Michael to and from school, afraid that some unprofessional scum would ambush him for a comment. Charlie and Nadia closed Chang Dai and laid low for a while. Sing got caught up in it, too, and he opted to fly with Yut Lung to China to clear his head. Ash’s gang, well—Max didn’t really know what had happened to them. He hoped they were fine.</p><p>The media frenzy went on for a few more months before finally cooling down. Max was just starting to get used to living a normal life again, but then now there was a fucking documentary.</p><hr/><p>His editor asked him if he wanted to write a tell-all. He told him for the millionth time no. Max knew he meant well, but the idea of laying it all down and trying to relive the past was too painful. He may do it, someday; when Michael was old enough to understand everything, when Jessica didn’t wake up from nightmares anymore, when Eiji could finally look at all those pictures he took of Ash.</p><p>The last one he wasn’t sure when and if it would happen. But he could hope. That was all he could do, most days.</p><p>For now the world could consume every article, blog, newsletter, video and documentary that they could find about Ash’s life. But someday—someday Max, preferably with Eiji and the others’ help, would set the record straight.</p><hr/><p>Not About Angels had been stuck in Max’s head for hours. He had to admit, it was a wonderful song. If the producers of the show wanted to capture Ash and Eiji’s essence, then he would grudgingly admit that this was a perfect song choice. It was sad, true, but the lyrics—damn, it hit right through the heart. If Jessica ever found out that he’d been locked up in his office associating songs with Ash and Eiji’s story now, he would never hear the end of it.</p><p>He wasn’t a fool; he knew that the creators of this documentary was going to focus a lot on those two’s relationship. After all, it was Ash’s connection to Eiji that had made this whole thing famous. Max supposed that this was better than going into detail about Ash’s past; he didn’t want the world to pry into all of the boy’s trauma. People were a sucker for love stories, so why not give it to them?</p><p>But then again, was it even a love story?</p><p>Max, for all the time he’d known Ash, never really asked the guy about what Eiji meant to him. Sure, they talked about a lot of stuff—from geopolitics to war and the best way to take down Golzine, even a bit about his and Griff’s life in Cape Cod—but never about their relationships, or the lack thereof. He never admitted that he was devastated when Jessica filed for divorce, and Ash never told him about what it was like living with Eiji. It was like they had an unspoken agreement not to talk about those things. Too personal, he supposed, even for them.</p><p>But Ash had nothing to tell, in hindsight. Max had seen the way he looked at Eiji, had noticed how the blond’s eyes would light up ever so slightly at just the mere mention of the other boy's name, and Eiji, well—he had his heart on his sleeve. He was caring and protective and home.</p><p>The closest thing to a confession that Ash had given Max was back when he had asked him for dinner so they could go over some of their plans, but the teen had said, “Sorry, can’t. I need to get home by seven.”</p><p>“Eh?” Max was incredulous. “You never go back that early.”</p><p>Ash scratched the back of his head, looking away. “Yeah, well. Eiji’s trying out this new recipe he saw online. It’s some sort of Japanese cuisine, I think? Anyway, it’s a very hard dish to make—or so he kept saying—and he wants to have it for dinner tonight.”</p><p>“And so?” said Max.</p><p>“<em>So</em> I promised that I’d come home and eat with him,” replied Ash with a roll of his eyes. He glanced at his watch. “Shit. I have to go. Let’s meet up tomorrow, okay, old man?”</p><p>“Oh, come on! Who’s gonna pay for my meal, now?”</p><p>“I’m sure you’ll manage. Anyway, I really need to go.”</p><p>“You’re really looking forward to that, huh?” asked Max teasingly. “Must be nice to have a wife.”</p><p>A blush spread from Ash’s neck to his face, but instead of going on the defensive like Max had expected him to, he simply said, “Yeah. Yeah, it’s nice.”</p><p>Max had a glimpse of their own little world once or twice during his visits to the condo, with Ash looking so carefree and relaxed as he lay on the couch, head on Eiji’s lap. Eiji would card his fingers through his hair, humming some pop tune under his breath, and Ash wouldn’t recoil from his touch. If anything, he looked like he craved it.</p><p><em>My soul is always with you</em>, wrote Eiji, his words mingling with Ash’s tears and literal lifeblood.</p><p>Griff was a poet, and a good one at that, but Max thought he would never send those words to his own best friend. It was too intimate, too <em>revealing</em>, a replacement for something else that perhaps both of them were aware of but afraid to say out loud.</p><p><em>I love you</em>.</p><p>He guessed he didn’t need to hear them say it for it to be true. Ash pointing a gun at Max and handing over all the information on Banana Fish to his enemies in order to protect Eiji was proof enough. The shared glances, the light touches, the life in the condo—all of it different ways to say I love you.</p><p>He hated the damn documentary and it’s dramatic trailers, but he liked the song and its representation. If Ash and Eiji’s story was going to be told, then it should be done right, soundtrack and all.</p><hr/><p>It was going to premiere on the 25th of December.</p><p>Apparently the fact that Ash had died right around Christmas made it the perfect date of release. Max was willing to bet that they were relying on the cozy, holiday atmosphere to set the tone on what would become the documentary’s most iconic part: Ash running through the snowy streets in his haste to get to the airport, only to be stabbed and die with a content smile on his face. That’s the thing about tragedy—it only works well when there was the presence of hope just waiting to be crushed.</p><p>Max and Jessica were out doing last-minute Christmas shopping when they were approached by several reporters.</p><p>“Max, any comments on Ash Lynx’s documentary?”</p><p>“They said it’s the most detailed account of Ash’s life. What do you have to say to that?”</p><p>“They said you refused to be involved in the making of this documentary. Is it true?”</p><p>“Are you still in touch with Eiji Okumura?”</p><p>“Max! Max, over here!”</p><p>“Christ,” Max muttered. He wrapped an arm around Jessica’s shoulder and steered her towards the mall’s exit. “What a mess.”</p><p>They walked briskly to their car, the sounds of cameras snapping and footsteps following them loud in the cold December air.</p><p>Once they had driven a safe distance away from the storm, Jessica said, “Damn journalists and their persistence.”</p><p>Max raised an eyebrow. “<em>We’re</em> journalists, too, you know.”</p><p>She huffed. “I just wish they’d leave us alone.” Quietly, she added, “I wish they’d leave him alone.”</p><p>His grip tightened on the wheel.</p><p>“People have been leaving roses for Ash at the library,” she continued. “At the entrance of the apartment building, too.”</p><p>“That’s nice,” said Max.</p><p>“I guess,” she admitted. She looked out the window where the city was rushing by in a blur. “It’s just…I wish he could have at least this—this thing with Eiji all to himself. I don’t know. I feel like it’s something really pure, but it’s getting tainted by having it all <em>out there</em>.” She waved her hands in the air to emphasize her point. “Sorry. I’m not making any sense.”</p><p>Max took a deep breath. Released it slowly. “No, I get what you mean.”</p><p>“How do you think Eiji’s holding up?”</p><p>“According to Ibe he rarely leaves his room and barely eats anything. Things are getting worse, too. Some people are fucking camping outside his home, can you believe that?”</p><p>“He’s a tough kid,” said Jessica firmly. “He’ll get through it.”</p><p>“I hope so,” he voiced out. Oh, how much Max hoped for everything to go well for Eiji. He gulped, trying to find the courage to say what was bothering him ever since the day he’d heard about Ash’s demise. “Sometimes I’m afraid Eiji will…I don’t know, slip away or something.”</p><p>“Max.”</p><p>“I honestly feel like we’re lucky he hadn’t followed Ash yet.”</p><p>He heard his wife take in a sharp breath.</p><p>“You’ve seen the letter, right?” he asked.</p><p>“I think everyone already has,” she replied bitterly.</p><p>“Yeah. And, you know, it makes me wonder sometimes. About what he said. About what those words meant. That maybe his soul does belong with Ash, and that he’ll suddenly realize this,” he was rambling now. He didn’t care. “He already knows what it was like to be depressed. His injury years ago really hit him hard. But now—I don’t think depressed even covers how he feels.” He felt Jessica’s hand rest on his knee, an anchor to reality. “And maybe one day he’ll wake up and the emptiness will be too much to handle and he’d—”</p><p>“Max,” said Jessica. “No. Don’t. Don’t think like that.”</p><p>The traffic lights blinked red, and Max stopped. He stared at it until the color was burned into his mind. “But what if, Jess? What if?”</p><p>The light turned green. The car stayed still. Outside, the snow began to fall.</p><p>“Then,” said Jessica, her voice thick from holding back tears. “Ash would be there to welcome him.”</p><p>The car behind them honked. Max stepped on the gas, deciding not to dwell on what Jessica had said because he still wasn’t sure whether it gave him fear or comfort.</p><hr/><p>Max received the invitation a few days before the worldwide premiere of Not About Angels. It came in the form of a white envelope and a velvet box topped with a golden ribbon that reminded him of Ash’s hair. The envelope contained a single card that read:</p><p>
  <em>Mr. and Mrs. Glenreed:</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You are officially invited to the advance screening of “Not About Angels” to be held at the American Museum of Natural History this Friday, December 20, at 7:00 pm.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There will be a cocktail party and exhibition at the New York Public Library after, and only those with the director’s personal token are allowed inside. That being said, you are one of the selected few. The box contains all the things you need.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We look forward to seeing you!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Best Regards,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Red Films and Media</em>
</p><p>Inside the box rested two golden bangles. Max snorted. What the hell was this? Him, invited to a formal event? He’d look ridiculous in a suit, more so with a fancy looking jewelry on him. He wasn’t some Oscar-winning actor.</p><p>He wondered whether he just ought to throw away the damn thing. Yeah, chuck it in the garbage disposal and never speak of it again.</p><p>Sighing, he trudged back into his office, the envelope and box deposited on his desk and sticking out like a sore thumb among the scattered books and folders.</p><hr/><p>In the end they decided to forego the screening and went straight to the exhibition. Max didn’t regret it; he wasn’t looking forward to watching Ash’s life unfold before his eyes with a hundred people he didn’t know, anyway. He’d see it once it was released, he thought, in the privacy of his own home and with Jessica there to freely hold him.</p><p>The exhibit was indeed held at the NYPL—or in one of its now cleared out area, anyway. There were people milling about the floor, holding up flutes of champagne and smiling as if they weren’t there to see what was probably the only pieces left of Ash Lynx, a boy that was taken away far too soon. If the creators really knew Ash, they’d realize that he probably wouldn’t appreciate his favorite place being used for something like this.</p><p>Max fidgeted with the golden bangle hanging from his wrist.</p><p>“A glass, sir?”</p><p>Before Max could respond, Jessica said, “No, thank you. We’re good.”</p><p>The young man bowed slightly before turning away and offering his tray to the other guests. Jessica tugged on Max’s hand.</p><p>“Come on,” she said. “Let’s see what they managed to dig up.”</p><p>“A lot, if the size of this room is any indication,” he replied, eyeing the entrance to the exhibition. He plucked a pamphlet from the nearest table and scanned it. “Huh.”</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“<em>Angel Eyes</em>.”</p><p>“Hmmm?”</p><p>“The exhibit. It’s called Angel Eyes.”</p><p>Jessica smoothed out the front of her dress. “They’re pretty obsessed with this whole Ash and angels theme.”</p><p>“They’re trying to play with his image, I guess,” he told her. “Looks like an angel, but works like the devil.”</p><p>Jessica shrugged. “Devils, angels—what’s the point? He was human. Always have been, but the people around him never treated him like one.”</p><p>He knew she meant no harm, and yet her words sent a pang through his heart. He recalled telling Ash that if devils were real, they’d probably look like him. Max had been one of those people. He hadn’t meant to be, but still.</p><p>“You look pretty sharp tonight,” said Jessica, eyeing his suit. Did she know what he was just thinking about? “The bangle suits you.”</p><p>“Now that’s just bull,” he replied, smiling slightly. She chuckled.</p><p>“Look.” She pointed at the far end of the room.</p><p>The familiar gun was displayed in a glass case on a marble stand, with spotlights pointed at it as if it was some 19th century relic. It was weird seeing it anywhere other than in Ash’s hands or tucked into the waistband of his jeans.</p><p>A plaque next to it read, <em>“Ash Lynx was famous for using a Smith and Wesson Model 27 revolver with a .357 magnum chamber. Legend has it that he hasn’t missed a target as far as 25 yards. He took down 30 people with just this gun during the fight with Frederick Arthur’s gang in the New York subway.”</em></p><p>Max turned his gaze to the photos lined up next to the glass case. There was a shot of a pool table, the multi-colored balls scattered almost artistically; an alley that was illuminated by a single street lamp, the graffiti glowing against the brick walls and reflecting on the puddle below rusty pipes; busy people rushing past the entrance of Chang Dai; an overhead view of Coney Island, the single train looking lonely and abandoned as it sat still on the tracks. Max knew all these places by heart, had personally lived through them, but somehow these photos looked unfamiliar to him, like they were scenes he’d seen once in a dream.</p><p>It was strange walking down a hall that displayed rows of Ash’s clothes. There was his signature white shirt and ripped jeans, the green plaid shirt he always wore around his waist, and of course the coat and turtleneck that he was wearing when he died, all laid and pressed in huge black frames. His favorite pair of red, worn out shoes were even put on a pedestal. They were all clean and neat, and yet Max swore he could still see all the blood in the fabric.</p><p>“Great, they have an entire section just for Ash and Eiji,” said Jessica dryly as they reached the last part of the exhibit. “How touching.”</p><p>Yet, even with her sarcasm, Max could feel her hold on his hand tighten as they passed through the makeshift archway.</p><p>There was a different atmosphere here compared to the other sections. First of all, the people weren’t as obnoxious. They spoke in whispers and moved languidly, almost as if they were trying not to disturb the exhibits. Max noticed how the lighting here was softer, more intimate, and perhaps that was why he felt wrong even stepping foot in this space. He could feel his throat close up with just the thought of going through an entire hall filled with Ash and Eiji’s memories.</p><p>He shouldn’t be here. None of these people should be here. He finally understood Jessica’s sentiment from before.</p><p>This thing with Ash and Eiji, this world they’ve built for just the two of them, it—it shouldn’t be out in the open like this for all to see. </p><p>But there was this exhibition and there was the videos and then that goddamn documentary. Don’t even get him started on the fucking internet. How could he counter all that?</p><p>So for now he just bit his lip and clenched Jessica’s hand so hard her palms turned pale. He raised his head, looking at the first photo hanging on the wall (a view of the New York city skyline from the floor-to-ceiling windows of Ash and Eiji’s 59th Street apartment) and decided to treat this with the respect it deserved.</p><p>There was a lot on display, and even Max, who had frequented the apartment from time to time, hadn’t seen some of the rooms in these photos. It seemed like they didn’t touch anything. There was a blanket draped over the back of the couch, probably Eiji’s, since Max remembered Ash worrying about the Japanese staying up late in their living room waiting for him. Another one was of the bedroom, with its two single beds and a nightstand that still had a can of soda and Ash’s glasses on it.</p><p>“This is sweet,” said Jessica with a tender look on her face.</p><p>She was carefully flicking through a book with hundreds of—weirdly enough—sticky notes and torn pages inside transparent covers.</p><p>
  <em>I made some cookies today. I hope that you will like it. -Eiji</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I heard that you have important business to take care of. The medicine cabinet and first aid kit is stocked. Please use it if you need to, Ash! -Eiji</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We have shrimp and avocado salad in the fridge. Eat it before you go to bed, okay? -Eiji</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ash, you can wear my NoriNori shirts, but remember to put them in the laundry basket. Thank you. -Eiji</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>July 20, 2018</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>We moved into a condo here at One Columbus Place. It’s comfortable, the rooms and utilities so much better than my previous hideout.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Eiji loves the new place, especially the kitchen with its clean counters and fancy oven. He says he wants to cook dinner for everyone and I told him even a place this big wouldn’t be able to accommodate all my gang members, so he just settled for Kong, Bones, and Alex’s company.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Hilarious. Only Eiji would want to mother the shit out of some thugs. He’s weird that way. I hope he never changes.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>August 12, 2018</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>It’s my eighteenth birthday. Eiji stayed up late last night baking a cake. I canceled work today because I promised to spend the whole day with him. We went out and took a walk around Central Park despite the danger. After that we browsed through a book shop where I bought a copy of Catcher in the Rye.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Eiji prepared a Japanese meal for dinner, but there was no natto. The cake was good and had yellow icing. Eiji wore a ridiculous party hat, so I had to wear one, too.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>We looked like idiots, sitting cross-legged on the floor and singing Happy Birthday off-key with the lights off. I hate cameras, but if I had one and was any good in photography, I’d take a picture of the soft, orange glow of the birthday candles illuminating Eiji’s face.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Someday, when I’m strong enough to voice out my feelings, I’d thank him for giving me the best birthday of my life. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>August 13, 2018</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I said “tadaima” for the first time. It made Eiji smile and my heart flutter.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>September 2, 2018</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Eiji has a really bad fever. I hope he gets well soon. I’m about to go crazy with worry.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I finally gave in and called for a private doctor to check up on him. We could afford one, so why not? Our cover story and fake documents should hold up anyway.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>September 6, 2018</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Eiji is all better. Still a little weak, but he can walk without my help now and he doesn’t get dizzy anymore. He asked if we could let Mrs. Owens and Mrs. Coleman come to the apartment for tea. I don’t think it’s a good idea, but how can I say no when he’s looking at me like that?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>They were a little nosy, but it’s fine since it’s obvious that they really adore Eiji. They fussed over him and it was kind of funny to watch. I got roped in it, too, and I wonder if this is what it’s like to grow up with a mom.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>They assumed Eiji and I were engaged. We don’t correct them.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>September 22, 2018</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I bought two plane tickets to Japan. One of them is for Eiji. The other one isn’t for me.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>October 30, 2018</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I’m writing this in the library because Eiji and I had a fight last night and I stormed out. Not very mature, I know. But his words hurt. They hurt because they’re true.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>October 31, 2018</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>We’re okay now. I know this because he’s brave enough to throw a Halloween party for me and decorate our living room with a fuck ton of pumpkins.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Tomorrow I fight with Arthur. Tomorrow Eiji leaves for Japan.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I tell myself that it’s for the best. I want him to be safe more than anything else, and he can never be that if he’s with me.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I’ll miss him forever.</strong>
</p><p>“What the hell,” muttered Max thoughtfully. “I didn’t know he kept a journal.”</p><p>It was something he realized tonight as he wandered around the exhibition. He had a good relationship with Ash and was privy to a lot of things about his past, so much so that it made it so easy to settle into their father-son dynamic, and still despite all that, there was a lot he didn’t know about the kid.</p><p>Who knew he liked to write, too? Well, not poems like his brother or columns like Max, but still. He seemed to channel all of his inner thoughts into his writing, things he would never have the courage to share to others or ever say out loud. </p><p>Fleetingly, Max thought that perhaps if he had been more serious in his actions Ash would have opened up to him and didn’t have to carry all these burdens alone. Stupid, stupid Max always teasing Ash instead of asking him how he’s been doing. Who knows? If Ash had told him, maybe things could have turned out differently…</p><p>Jessica spoke before he can beat himself up for it.</p><p>“No wonder they bragged about having an ‘in-depth look into Ash Lynx’s personal life’.” Jessica frowned. “Now I’m really curious about that documentary.”</p><p>“Let’s watch it after Christmas,” suggested Max. He closed the book. “Let’s enjoy the holidays, at least. For Michael.”</p><p>Jessica nodded before gesturing at the far end of the room. “Well, I guess we’ve reached the end of the exhibition. There’s Eiji’s letter.”</p><p>Ahead, set apart from the rest, was Eijis’s two page letter. It was laid out side by side on a velvet covered tablet, with a glass case protecting it just like everything else. A huge photo of the Rose Room hung above it. The guests hovered around it like flies.</p><p>Max couldn’t do this. Nuh-uh. This was where he drew the line. He couldn’t look at that letter—he refused to. He’d seen it when it circulated in the internet, knew some of the words written there, but he didn’t want to lay eyes on it now.</p><p>Everything in that letter was Ash’s and Ash’s alone.</p><p>“Let’s go home,” he said quietly. He was drained.</p><p>“Okay.” Jessica looked up at the ceiling. “Okay.”</p><hr/><p>They spent Christmas at Jessica’s sister’s house in Los Angeles. After the huge scandal they revealed that caused an uproar in the White House, they became stationed at New York and decided to live there. Now, they only went to L.A. for visits like this one.</p><p>So far everything was going well. Michael was glad with his gift, some video game that Max hadn’t bothered to remember the name of (he loved his son, he really did, but there was just some interests they didn’t share.) Jessica was laughing with her siblings as they recounted some childhood memories over mugs of hot chocolate, and Max? Max was content to just sit on his chair in a cozy sweater and not think about work for once.</p><p>He called Ibe earlier to greet him. His friend was having a good time too, it seemed, since he was gushing about the day he’d planned for his wife. Right—they celebrated Christmas differently in Japan.</p><p>Thinking about Japan made him think about Eiji, which in turn made him think about Ash. If they lived in a perfect world, he would have been celebrating in Izumo now. Along with the letter, a one-way ticket to Japan was found with him, which was the reason why police had come to the conclusion that Ash was too busy rushing to the airport when he got stabbed. He wondered if Eiji had learned about that, and if so, was he blaming himself for what happened?</p><p>His fingers twitched; he wanted to take his phone and dial Eiji’s number. However, he refused to acknowledge any of Max’s attempts at contacting him, so perhaps suddenly calling him on Christmas Day would be pointless. Still, Max couldn’t get the image of that ticket out of his head, so he typed <em>Hope you’re doing well. Visit us when you’re ready, kid. Happy Holidays.</em> and sent it to Eiji.</p><p>To his surprise, his phone buzzed with a new message just a few minutes later.</p><p>
  <strong>Eiji Okumura: Thank you, Max.</strong>
</p><hr/><p>That night, Max wrote down some of the more fond memories he had of them.</p><p>The road trip to L.A. Ash teaching Eiji how to shoot a gun. Ibe’s photos of Eiji from his pole-vaulting days. The dinners he had with Ash at Grand Central Resto.</p><p>They weren’t detailed nor chronologically organized, just whatever came into Max’s mind, so he ended up having pages of messy writing.</p><p>It wasn’t close to a tell-all. He didn’t even know if he would ever write one. But it felt good to feel the pen in his hands again, and it felt even better to remember the good times.</p><hr/><p>“Alright,” said Jessica as she settled next to him on the couch. “Michael’s asleep. Let’s get this over with.”</p><p>They were back in New York and had set up their living room for tonight’s screening. Max opened a bottle of beer and poured a glass of Jessica’s favorite wine as she covered the both of them with a blanket; he wasn’t sure why they were treating this like it’s date night, but he didn’t complain. The familiarity of it all helped settle his nerves.</p><p>Jessica pressed play; absently he noticed that the documentary was three hours long. A warning regarding the violence and themes contained was flashed. The studio’s logo appeared briefly before it faded to black, and then a few seconds later a faint instrumental started in the background (Arsonist’s Lullabye by Hozier, according to the small title card at the corner of the screen), and random footage of Manhattan’s underbelly played while someone narrated:</p><p>
  <em>“Gun fights, duels to the death, gang wars, the mafia—every scene seemed straight out of an action movie or crime novel. However, in real life, there’s no dramatic deaths or explosions in the background like in fiction. In real life, all of these is happening in the back alleys of one of the most busiest cities in the world: downtown New York.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“In December of 2018, a man was found dead in the Rose Room of the main branch of the NYPL. He had bled to death from a stab wound while sitting in chair 378. He was smiling. This man was Ash Lynx, an eighteen-year-old boy and one of the most notorious gang leaders of New York.”</em>
</p><p>They flashed several photos of Ash, including snapshots of some news articles written about him.</p><p>
  <em>“Many things could be said about Ash Lynx. Son. Brother. Criminal. Hustler. Murderer. Leader. Lover.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>He had the face of a male lead straight out of a romantic film with his green eyes and golden hair, but hands that are very familiar with violence and blood. An angel living and giving hell.”</em>
</p><p>Max had to hand it to whoever wrote the script; it had too much flare sometimes, but that was to be expected. And they were very thorough with their research, he could tell. They delved into Ash’s childhood and what happened with the Bluebeard of Cape Cod, holding nothing back. The police records were shown, some detectives gave interviews.</p><p>When they explored Griff and Ash’s relationship, he felt his breath hitch. Seeing the photos of Griff before the war made something in Max’s chest ache, as if someone had grabbed a hold of his heart and was squeezing it too tight.</p><p>They spent a good hour expounding on Ash’s life after he got caught by Golzine. Nothing that Max wasn’t familiar with; after all, it had been him and Jessica that had exposed it to the world.</p><p>No mention of Banana Fish—to everyone else but them, it had never even existed. It was wrong, perhaps, because he felt like Shorter’s death and everyone else’s sacrifice had been left without justice, but that was that. There were no records, no files. Ash had told Sing to let it go and burn.</p><p>It was for the better, Max told himself. The world didn’t have to go through that horror.</p><p>A man appeared on screen. His face wasn’t shown in the camera, just a few glimpses of his eyes and mouth. He was a former guard for Golzine and was one of those who were captured in the aftermath.</p><p>
  <em>“You couldn’t work for the monsieur and not see Ash once. The boy was his favorite—his pet, that’s what people liked to say. I don’t know what really went between them, but here’s all I have to say: if you lived through what that kid did, wouldn’t you go a little crazy, too?” The camera went to show him fidgeting with his hands. “I’m not a good person. Far from it. Hell, I worked for a mafia don and turned a blind eye to everything. Job’s a job, you know? Nothing personal. But when Ash decided to break free and started killing everyone who wronged him, including some of my men, I can’t say I really blamed him. Kid’s got every reason to hate.”</em>
</p><p>Jessica gave an affirmative hum. She poured more wine.</p><p>To Max’s surprise, some of Ash’s former gang members gave interviews as well. None of the main ones like Alex, Bones, and Kong, but those who were often ordered around by Ash and was too far down the chain of command that Max didn’t have any reason to meet them formally. He wished he had.</p><p>They shared their stories, starting from how they got involved with gangs and Ash Lynx. It was a revelation to Max how much he hadn’t realized that of course, just like Ash, these kids were also people who had drawn the short end of the stick and had found escape in the camaraderie of their members and the noise of the underground. Is that why Ash had taken them in? Because he felt a certain sense of kinship with them? Unlikely, Max thought, because you don’t let someone join a gang based on emotional attachments, but it was a nice thought anyway.</p><p>He was glad, at least, that the documentary decided to include them and give time listening to their experiences.</p><p><em>“Not a lot of people can say that they know the real Ash Lynx, but if someone did, it was certainly Eiji Okumura. Just a nineteen-year-old college student from Japan, Eiji came to America in order to come back from the injury that put a sudden stop to his pole-vaulting career</em>.</p><p>
  <em>“The two first met in a bar where Ash’s gang usually hang out. Eiji was an assistant to Shunichi Ibe, a photojournalist who had been assigned to cover gang life in New York. Long story short, he got caught up in the altercation that happened that day between Ash and Arthur’s men, and in a twist of fate got further tangled up into the young gang leader’s life.”</em>
</p><p>The next minutes were spent exploring Ash and Eiji’s condo in 59th street. He supposed they were going for the home video aesthetic, since the scenes were deliberately grainy and candid, with an acoustic version of Sunflower by Rex Orange County barely heard in the background as a building representative guided the crew around the place, careful not to disturb anything and keep it the way its previous tenants had left it. He assumed that this was shot before they took everything for the exhibition; Eiji’s reminders, written in neat strokes on colorful sticky notes, were still on the refrigerator and cupboards.</p><p>The Halloween decorations were still up, too, the black streamers and jack-o-lanterns slowly collecting dust. Signs of Ash could be found in the philosophy books left on the coffee table. Eiji’s touch could be felt in the odd assortment of figurines on the mantel (this was later explained when they delved into Ash’s journal entries. Apparently, Eiji was fascinated with unique objects that could be found in thrift shops, so Ash bought him one every time he could.)</p><p>Ash’s entries all revolved around the mundane—very minimal mentions of his gang and plans—but somehow it was the most fascinating and informative part to Max. Eiji had cried when Ash told him they couldn’t adopt the cat he’d found on the fire exit one day; he and Eiji went to the Asian market once every month; and in a sudden burst of spontaneity Ash had brought flowers and sent it to the condo anonymously, but he had a feeling Eiji knew it was from him anyway because there was no way his men would have let Eiji take a package in without checking it for threats first.</p><p>An old woman with perfectly pinned hair and a kind smile showed on screen. <em>Mrs. Coleman</em>. She seemed relaxed, eyes lighting up when the person behind the camera asked her about Ash and Eiji.</p><p>
  <em>“Everyone was curious about them when they moved in. I mean, who wouldn’t be? Two kids like that living in one of the more expensive units here. I was taken aback when I first saw Ash in the elevator–of course he had been using a different name, then—face like that, you wouldn’t forget it. I rarely see him because he always comes and goes, but Eiji, we truly got to know him. He was a sweet young man. Always greeted us when we met at the supermarket downstairs. Was always giving treats to the children here. Everybody here loved him."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her voice was warm and sincere. “It was strange, I suppose. Eiji never seemed to be alone. Someone was always with him in the condo and followed him whenever he went out. I never asked why; it was just one of those things, you know? I thought maybe Ash’s family was some big name and that was why he was being very cautious.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Of course finding out the truth about them was a shock,” she continued. She suddenly looked thoughtful. “But, you know, whatever they said or what the real story was, the Ash and Eiji I’ll remember would be those two boys who made a mess of my kitchen because they got too caught up throwing icing at each other when I invited them to help bake cupcakes.”</em>
</p><p>Jessica let out a small laugh at that.</p><p>But Max—Max felt tears prick his eyes. If he hadn’t known Ash personally, he’d have thought that all of this was just tidbits of a normal teenager’s life. God, he was so glad Ash was able to experience moments like those, even if they were fleeting. A bitter sweet feeling threatened to overwhelm him, and he discreetly wiped the corners of his eyes in order to stop the tears from escaping.</p><p>A song started up again—Why Can’t I have You by Gloria Laing, Max read—as the documentary reached its final stretch.</p><p>
  <em>“Eiji had asked Ash to live with him in Japan plenty of times. It was a wonderful prospect, and one that Ash finally decided to pursue, but fate had other plans for him. Just when Ash was running to the airport with Eiji’s letter in his hands, he got stabbed by Lao Yen Tai, a member of a rival gang. Ash managed to shoot him, but instead of calling for help, Ash staggered to the New York Public Library. One thing to note, though, was that Ash Lynx had died not sitting in his usual spot. Chair 378 was opposite Ash’s favorite seat, and it was believed that it was often occupied by Eiji whenever they went to the library together.”</em>
</p><p>“Oh, Ash,” Max said so quietly he was sure Jessica didn’t hear him. “Your soul was always with him too, huh?”</p><p>
  <em>“According to autopsy reports, Ash hadn’t been hit in any vital areas, meaning he had bled for hours in the library before passing away. Why he chose to die remains a mystery until now, but one thing’s for sure: his story continues to live on.”</em>
</p><p>A picture he hadn’t seen of Ash flashed on the screen. His eyes were half hidden by his hair, and he had the most genuine smile. He was looking somewhere above the camera, perhaps at the one taking the picture, and Max knows it’s Eiji. Only he could bring out a smile like that from Ash. Max stared until the screen faded to black. The credits rolled while Not About Angels played.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Max Glenreed: Did you give them the photo?</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>9:37 am, Wednesday</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Eiji Okumura: Yes.</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>2:05 am, Saturday</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Eiji Okumura: I’m sorry.</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>2:07 am, Saturday</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Eiji Okumura: I wanted the world to see him the way I did.</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>2:13 am, Saturday</em>
</p><hr/><p>Max was writing again. He had neither a specific theme nor topic, but he didn’t care. He just wrote everything that came to mind, now both the good and bad, and he felt strangely content.</p><hr/><p>On New Year’s, Eiji called him. He shouted. Apologized. Cried. Cried and cried and cried…</p><p>… and Max listened.</p><hr/><p>The documentary was well-received. Max would grudgingly admit that they did a good job considering the limited primary sources.</p><p>It seemed to have an effect on Eiji. After it aired and his breakdown over the phone, he finally decided to come clean to his family and actually kept in contact with Max. It wasn’t an easy process; Ibe said Eiji remained locked in their house, and there were still times when he would have that faraway look in his eyes, but he was talking now. Trying to pick up the pieces, Ibe had commented. </p><p>He told Max that it might have to do with the fact that Eiji had been receiving emails and letters from people around the world who had watched the documentary. Most of them were just holiday cards, others short encouraging messages. But there were some that were truly personal: people who have been inspired by Ash and Eiji’s story, those who shared their tragedy and struggles that felt a certain kinship with him. All of them filled with so much love and support that Max thought maybe, <em>just maybe</em>, that documentary did some goddamn good after all.</p><hr/><p>He received a package on the end of February. Attached to it was a letter that read:</p><p>
  <em>Dear Max and Jessica,</em>
</p><p><em>I hope that this letter finds you in good spirits</em> <em>.</em></p><p>
  <em>Ibe-san told me that your editor had been bugging you to write a tell-all. I just want you to know that if you do, you have my blessing and that I would be glad to help.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You can use these if you want.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Love,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Eiji</em>
</p><p><br/>Inside the  booklet envelope were hundreds of photos. There were some featuring Ash, Eiji, and Shorter in that one summer in Cape Cod; some candid photos of Ash and Eiji or both of them together taken in their apartment; sceneries in both New York and what he assumed was Izumo.</p><p>Max hugged the envelope to his chest and smiled.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Max Glenreed: Thank you, Eiji.</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>3:12 pm, Thursday</em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <strong>Eiji Okumura: You’re welcome. I trust you.</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>3:14 pm, Thursday</em>
</p><hr/><p>Max’s book, entitled <em>Found &amp; Lost: a biography of Ash Lynx</em>, sold nearly 4 million copies worldwide. With 460 pages, it told the story of Ash’s life through statements from Detectives Charlie Dickinson and Jenkins, Cain Blood, Sing Soo-Ling, Alex, Kong and Bones, Ibe, and of course, Eiji.</p><p>The title was inspired from something Eiji had told Max during one of their interviews for the book.</p><p>“If you were given a chance to do it all over again,” he had said carefully, “would you?”</p><p>“Yes,” Eiji said in a heartbeat.</p><p>“Even though there was a lot of pain?” he asked.</p><p>“That’s part of the madness of falling in love, I guess.” Eiji sighed and added softly, “You lose a part of yourself but find a piece of another that completes you.”</p><hr/><p>It’s been four years since Ash left. Two  since the documentary came out and one since Max published his book.</p><p>But now a movie was in the works.</p><p>
  <em>Damn it.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wrote this while at work so forgive me if it's all over the place.</p><p>Banana Fish is both my destruction and salvation. I want to pretend that the canon never happened but I like pain too much.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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